


The Heirloom Match

by manderelee



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manderelee/pseuds/manderelee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ling finds a loophole in an ancient wedding tradition, and uses it in the hopes of leveraging his chances to marry a woman of his choice. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heirloom Match

**Author's Note:**

> Last year I was inspired to write a fairy-tale AU for LingFan, but didn't know how to quite go about it. A few weeks ago I dusted up the notes I initially took down and came up with this.
> 
> It's sort of like a Cinderella retelling. Sort of, probably only in the sense of fitting an article of clothing. But anyway, what I really wanted to explore was how to get Ling to introduce the idea of marrying Lan Fan. It's one of the hardest obstacles to their relationship that LingFan writers have to overcome, at least if we want to be realistic. And LingFan shippers take a lot of hits from people who say we're just too optimistic or we have no idea how Asian culture works. 
> 
> In any case, I'm definitely not saying this is exactly how I imagine Ling and Lan Fan getting together. I think it would involve a lot more mess than this and a lot more intricacies. But it's a fun exploration. (And definitely a lot longer than I intended it to be.)

**The Heirloom Match**

_This short interlude explains a peculiar custom of the Yao people. Although it relates to alkahestry only in the remotest sense, I feel inclined to include it in my notes since it sparked a series of events that led me to discover some interesting ways in which the Xingese employs medicinal alchemy._

_Among the Yao nobility is a well-guarded piece of jewelry: a bracelet composed of jade beads with magnetic clasps on both ends. Inlaid on the face of its middle bead are the symbols for “Final Matchmaker” written in the alphabets used by ancient Yao tribes. Traditionally, this very bracelet was used to determine the women that the high chief and his sons would marry. It is believed that the woman whose wrist will fit the jewelry perfectly was the best choice for a wife._

_Since the Yaos were annexed into the Xingese empire, the bracelet is now used as an arbitrator in the candidacy for the Imperial Yao Wife._

_A. Elric_

-o-

Lan Fan watched the procession of women from her perch on the temple's roof. Beside her was a rather hideous gargoyle, and she didn't know why, but she felt a companionship with the deformed piece of sculpted rock.

“They're beautiful, aren't they?” she whispered to her rocky friend. “The Young Lord would have a hard time this week.” She placed a hand on the jaw of what she presumed was a half-dragon, half-tiger creature, but it might as well be a demon from the spirit world, for all she could tell. Lan Fan felt the calm, induced by the bare attention she gave the rock face, settle her otherwise troubled spirits.

The Emperor would be choosing the candidate for the Imperial Wife from his clan. Ordinarily, when the Emperor did not hail from the Yao lands, the royal chief himself would be the supreme judge of the candidates. In the rare occasion that it was, like this time, the Emperor himself would be able to choose whom among his own people he could marry.

But of course, it was the High Council who could bestow the title of First Wife. They would decide this after all the clans have presented their contender.

She felt the flash of familiar chi a split second before his warm hand rested on her shoulder. She knew all too well who would meet her gaze, but she was taken aback nonetheless by the rather frugal apparel that her lord had chosen for himself. An unbelted, coarse tunic graced his shoulders, and he wore a pair of loose, patched-up trousers to match.

“I need a favour, Lan Fan,” he whispered, and she didn't miss the slight glint of his eyes as he turned away from the view below. “Would you guard these women for me during their retreat?” They were going to a three-day trip to various places around the Yao province, participating in several tests that would help determine their worthiness as wives. “I don't trust anyone else to keep them in place.”

“How about you?” she asked, and as a reflex she widened her chi senses around the premises, the same way a pheasant's hackles would rise when it is jeopardized.

“Do you mean to imply that I need to be kept in place?” he raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lips lifted into a smirk.

Lan Fan blushed. “I didn't mean it that way! I just meant... who would guard you, my Lord?”

“Your cousin would,” the Emperor shrugged as if it was such a simple answer. “You know well enough that he's your second-in-line. And he does a pretty good job too. Don't be so harsh! He's six years your senior, you know he won't appreciate you looking down on him.”

Her blush deepened at his jest. “I don't look down on him. I respect him and his abilities.”

“So you'd go?”

Lan Fan looked back at the queue of fidgety young women, knowing full well that she could never turn down a request by the Emperor himself.

The first day was spent hiking through the marshlands and then the woods, up to the Yǐngzi mountain where they would be staying in a cave overnight. The hike was supposed to test the women's endurance and health, and the night in the cave – which would be sealed tightly by the eunuchs sent along with them – would test their stability of mind. Lan Fan thought that the dark cavern was a little ridiculous; after all, very few women these days, if ever, had hysterics over the dark. Especially those who hailed from remote parts of the Yao province where electrical lines had yet to be installed. Honestly, they were more likely to lose their wits over a losing hand in mahjong.

But it wasn't Lan Fan's place to criticize a ten-generation old tradition. It worked well enough, after all. Excepting for Lady Chua three reigns ago who had a habit of screaming at insects, all the Yao brides had been sturdy and poised, well-manered, and if not well-liked, at least tolerated by the court.

In any case, Lan Fan found herself sitting on the rocky floor of the cave, listening to the breathing sounds of sleeping women. There was a soft trickling to her left, and the slight draft against her ear let her know that there was another opening on the opposite side. No matter. The men were outside waiting. Three of them were servants, and the other two were higher-ranked officials especially appointed for the task of observing and grading the women.

When morning came and the big slab of round stone was rolled away from the entrance, Lan Fan spent a few minutes doing simple stretches as the women were interviewed in the cave behind her. Some looked pale, some had obviously underslept, and there was one who refused to get up no matter how many times the servants (politely) prodded her. She looked at each of the girls in turn, conjuring an image in her mind of what it would be like if the emperor married her. Her mind's eye rested on the picture with calm attention even though she felt a mixture of feelings rumble by in succession, like rain-heavy clouds passing through a picturesque view. It was how her grandfather taught her to sharpen her perception. Feeling were always above, just passing or flitting, not allowed to touch anything else.

They hiked down the mountain, and the graders didn't let them have lunch. By mid-afternoon, some of the ladies were teetering on the path, and by the time the sight of a poor village came into view, even the richest one among them sighed in audible relief. The servants began to hand each of them fifteen copper coins each.

“Fifteen only?” one of the girls asked. “I wouldn't even be able to get a good, hot bowl of porridge for that.”

“No, my lady,” the servant bowed before her. “This is not for your meal. This is for the poor folks down in that village. Your next task is to find the best way to spend these fifteen coppers to help as many people there as you can.”

The silence that followed was saturated with the women's efforts to hold back their groans. Lan Fan herself suppressed a small amused smile. She could somewhat sympathize with them. As a retainer, her priorities had never been to satisfy the poor; fifteen copper coins would go a long way in preserving her well-being and that of her lord's.

Still, the ladies held their heads high and donned on kind, tolerating faces as they marched to the village. One girl made a splendid show of dropping her coins into the laps and hands of beggars, one for each. Another had the sense to pay for a cheap, bland meal, and distributed the food among two families. Lan Fan watched as the women dispersed through the crowds, each one hunting for the best way to please the ragged and dirty masses. She sat by the entrance to the village, leaning against the gate, wondering what the Emperor was doing now. Most likely, thinking of food. The ministers would be fighting for his attention, but the upcoming ceremony would be his priority. She wondered what it felt like, how it would be to stare ahead and find one's inevitable engagement looming only a short span away. In some ways, she felt sorry for the king. In some other, smaller ways, she felt almost sorry for herself, though she didn't know if it was because the feeling would forever be foreign to her, or because of something else.

When darkness eclipsed the sky, she helped the servants prepare a meager meal for the noble daughters. A few of them smiled at her and nodded their heads as she handed them their food, and there were others who took the bowl from her hands without bothering to look at her. Still, all of them had the same portions and the same food, nothing special for the higher born-and-bred, nothing homely for the rest.

They slept only for a few hours. Lan Fan herself didn't sleep at all. Some villagers were worried about roaming bandits, so she offered to keep watch by the gate. It was a quiet night, however. The imperial secretary woke the rest of their party well before the break of dawn to return on foot to the Yao palace. As they packed their belongings, Lan Fan caught herself stealing covetous looks at the notebook that the officials used to document each girl's performance. She wondered who among them topped the ranks, though she didn't understand why she wanted to know.

-o-

_Twenty-six years before the Yao's annexation into the Xingese empire, there was a major skirmish between the Yao peoples and what is now considered the defunct Ahn tribe. The Yaos were people of the valley, and they thrived on clever use of the land. To their east was the Danyang pass, the only traversible route through the mountain ranges. To the south were the badlands. And so from the north and the west poured in traders and travelers, and the Yaos offered them safe passage through the mountains or sold them high-priced goods that the Yao merchants themselves risked their lives to obtain._

_Although highly skilled in stealth and combat, the Yaos were troubled by the mountain-dwelling tribe that frequently ambushed their parties in the Danyang pass. The Ahns were quicker than shadow and more ruthless than the summer monsoons. Having no natural economic injection of their own, the Ahns often resorted to banditry._

_When a severe drought dried up the lake on the eastern side of the mountain ranges, several tribes retreated up to the mountains and began to rival the Ahns in looting. That was when the Yao chief saw a window of opportunity. Setting aside old grudges, he offered to hire the Ahn bandits to work as their bodyguards in exchange for wages and land. This way, the Yao could pass through the mountain safely, and the Ahn did not have to compete for resources with the other tribes. This union entailed prosperity to both tribes, and it fostered a hardy friendship between the two ever since._

_A. Elric_

-o-

The Butterfly Festival punctuated the end of the week.

Lan Fan stood rigidly inside the empty hall, eyes trained on the brightly polished jade bracelet cushioned on a pedestal. Her master sat on the throne beside her, counting the minutes before the court ushered itself inside and the fitting would begin. She heard him sigh, and she contemplated whether it was out of boredom or restlessness or something else entirely. She wondered, because she was in no position to ask.

He sighed again, louder this time. Then after the space of several breaths, he called out to Lan Fan.

“Aren't you going to ask how I am? I have been heaving here like a pregnant lady, and you're just there staring at those wretched balls of stones.”

Lan Fan turned away from the pedestal, and bowed reverentially before him. “Forgive me for my negligence,” she said, though she didn't feel particularly apologetic. He was fidgety and impatient. He reminded her of a much younger version of himself, and she could tell that he was not really angry with her.

“Say, Lan Fan,” he smirked at her then, and she felt her flesh hand grow clammy with shyness. He would tease her now, she knew. “Do you have a thing for rocks? I found you the other day talking to that gargoyle. Now you're making cow-eyes at that jade bracelet. What is it that you're so fond of?”

She felt the rush of warmth that reddened her skin, and was glad when the doors opened up to interrupt his jesting.

Lan Fan rushed to take her place behind the king's throne. She watched as a throng of gregariously-clad people came pouring in, clamouring for the best seats from which they could view the following proceedings. From a side door connected to the hallway leading to the visitor's wings, the five women trailed into a neat line in front of the dais. They wore pretty dresses, embroidered with details so fine; their hair was braided into elaborate figures on their heads, peppered with small studs of jewels or flower petals. They stood facing the throne, postures graceful, heads tilted slightly downward in a show of demureness.

The Master of State Affairs took the center stage and announced in length the procedure for the fitting. Lan Fan could barely suppress her sigh of impatience – all they had to do was to wrap the bracelet around their wrists; what about that was difficult? The Master explained that to give each candidate a fair chance, they can try the bracelet on both hands, and they were to be graded on the better fit.

One by one, each girl took to the center stage, and an elderly noble tied the bracelet around each of their wrists. Lan Fan was about to yawn, but just when the last girl was taking off the jewelry, there was a shift of energy in the Dragon's Pulse, a thread of malignant force just small enough that Lan Fan could detect it before she heard the sound of a gun shot explode in the room.

She saw a splash of red at the edge of her vision, but she ignored it. She leapt before the emperor, covering his body with hers as she heard the people behind her shout in alarm and scatter about. As much as she wanted to confront the person who loosened the bullet, her first priority was to the Emperor. She pulled him out of the seat, and he lithely followed her to the passageway adjacent to the dais.

“I can take it from here,” a voice whispered by her side, and she realized that her cousin materialized in the scene as soon as the commotion began. She handed the king to him, and went back out to the hall. Three masked assailants were in the midst of the crowd, brandishing sharpened blades against those who tried to suppress them. They were agile and sleek, signatures of trained assassins, more used to killing than protecting. Lan Fan herself learned of the difference long ago.

A quick assessment of the room confirmed that the five candidates were no longer there. She then jumped into the melee, pushing the switch by the crook of her left elbow that extended the killing blade of her automail. She aimed for the nearest assassin, but though he seemed occupied with three other guards, he managed to dodge her attack. Just barely. She left a long wound across his back, and he went sprawling across the floor, landing on the feet of some poor noble woman who was just trying to escape the room. With a frightened cry, she trampled the man on her way out. Lan Fan took the opportunity to pounce on him, and with quick, precise strikes of her knife, she cut the tendons on his arms required for lifting swords. Two forceful punches against his knee dislocated his bones, and he was left there looking like a ragdoll. She made eye contact with the guards who were dealing with him earlier, and nodded her head to indicate to take him away.

The room was emptying when she surveyed it again. The nobles were gone; only the guards were left. One of the assassins was struggling on the marbled floor, held down by a bunch of soldiers on the steps of the dais. One of them was disarming him, pulling the knives from their sheaths. She opened her mouth too late to warn them, as the soldier yanked a kunai away and realized belatedly that it was connected to the latch of a grenade. A second ticked by, and then the bomb detonated, disintegrating the assassin, the soldiers and a fraction of the podium with them.

Lan Fan shielded herself from the onslaught of burning debris and smoke that blasted her way. She squinted through the dark clouds, trying to assess the extent of the damage, worrying where her cousin Jung-woo managed to take the emperor by now. She spotted a silhouette against the smoke, crouching against a small pile of ruins. It picked something up, and dashed to flee.

She didn't waste a moment trying to follow. He used the window to escape the room, and she dashed after him. Surprisingly, he didn't take the route to the palace gate.

_So_ , she thought. _He is smart enough to predict that we would have guards waiting for him there._

She found him scaling the walls, trying to reach the roof of the Yao palace, and she jumped after him. She grabbed her three knives, and hurled them in succession. One struck him on the shoulder, and he lost his balance for a moment, dropping one storey. But he got up, and the rest of her knives fell back down to her level. She managed to fetch one in the air in passing, but the other was lost. The angle of the sun made it difficult for her to watch him leap against the backdrop of the sky. Her eyes ached as she looked closely, gauging where he would land, and sent her last blade flying. It severed his ankle, and he fell away from her view as he crumpled on the balcony of the last floor.

When she reached him, she saw him struggling, trailing a pool of blood after him. When he noticed her, he smirked. From somewhere in his tunic, he took out an object and dangled it over the edge of the balcony.

The jade heirloom.

The imperial Yao palace was built on the edge of a valley, one side of it hugging the lower face of the Danyang mountain; the other side overlooked the sharp decline to the serpentine river that flowed through the mountain ranges. And that river was what would welcome the precious jewelry if the man released his grip on it.

But he didn't just throw it. Instead, he pushed himself against the far side of the balcony, and fast as she was, she still missed him by a finger's width. He threw himself over the edge, carrying the bracelet with him.

Lan Fan eyed their descent, committing to memory the positions of the rocks protruding from the river, and estimating where they would fall. The man would have no chance. He would bleed to death anyway before he could safely swim out of the river, and that was assuming he could even swim without one foot.

But the bracelet! It could still be saved. Lan Fan grasped about herself, looking for something she could throw, something that could change the angle of the bracelet's trajectory. But she had lost all her knives, and there was nothing that could cut through the flow of wind in a straight line and carry the heirloom to safety.

Unless...

With her right hand, she gripped her left elbow, looking for the base of the blade that could disengage the weapon from the automail. In her desperation, when she twisted the base from the axle, there came a sickening crush of metal and her entire arm from elbow down came off. Making no time for the shock that threatened to overtake her senses, she threw her arm down, aiming to divert the bracelet's descent onto one of the largest boulders in the river.

She held her breath, observing as her aim struck true; the metal arm caught the string of beads in midair and the arm's momentum caused the jewelry to wrap around the wrist, the magnetic clasps of the bracelet clinging to the steel. Arm and heirloom found their way down to a boulder jutting out from the flow of the river.

-o-

_The 50 Wives Protocol was established shortly after the Empire annexed the Jiang-lu peninsula, the last province to enter the modern Empire of Xing. To pacify all fifty clans of the empire, the first Emperor, Houjun Ri, created a system in which he could marry one bride from each of the clans. Any one of his heirs could succeed him in the throne, thereby giving each of the clans a fair shot at reigning._

_The system worked as such: at the imperial level, the Emperor was to be presented fifty candidates, one from each clan. He would then consult with his advisers (now known as the High Council), and choose the woman and the clan who deserved the honour of First Wife._

_Some time after, usually between six months to a year, they would gather once again with forty-nine candidates from the remaining clans. These could be the same women from before or a different candidate. The Emperor would choose his second wife. The cycle would repeat itself until each clan had one wife in the harem. The Emperor decided how frequently he would take a wife. It was also customary to take a second wife from the same clan should the first one fail to provide an heir._

_At the provincial level, each clan had its own way of determining the candidate for Imperial Wife. For smaller clans, the woman would usually be a daughter of the clan leader. The Yao clan, however, used a similar system as the one used by the Emperor himself because of its large population. At its core, the Yao family controlled a confederation composed of five less powerful houses. Although intermarriages had baked the bloodline of these houses together so that they were all more or less considered Yao nobles, there remained disputes over whom would get to offer the Emperor a wife._

_To determine the woman for the candidacy, the women were put to test and assessed. The practice of heirloom fitting was a tradition. A woman could still marry without fitting the jade bracelet, but the people themselves would not be sympathetic, and might even support sabotage against that wife (I have seen such tales related in the Domestic Economics Archive, fourth volume). There were even tales when a perfect fit could override any shortcomings of the woman, such as ugliness, physical or mental disabilities, and poor economic prospects._

_Because the life of the Emperor was always under threat, many clans vied to have the honour of First Wife. Securing a position in the harem, especially during the first few years of the king's reign, was of utmost importance. Early marriage meant early heir. Early heir meant that if anything happened to the Emperor, the clan could easily boast a live and breathing successor._

_For this reason, many clans choose to replace their candidates each time the Emperor requests his next wife._

_A. Elric_

-o-

They found the jade bracelet safely intact, wrapped securely on Lan Fan's automail arm. A servant brought it to Ling's chambers that afternoon, after the shock and fear wore off. Four of the girls survived, but the remaining one did not live past her gunshot wound, much to the family's dismay.

“Based on the information we could extract from the one assassin we managed to take into our custody, this was the work of several allying clans,” explained the Master of Domestic Safety (also covertly known as Master of Espionage, although nobody explicitly used that name). Ling sat on a chair, pampered by two servants who offered him chilled wine and skinned fruits to help him relax after the earlier disturbance. But his vision was instead filled with the messy web of cords spilling from Lan Fan's metal elbow. She sat near him, mask on her lap.

“The Dao, the Wu and the Hoang sent the assassins, because they knew that you would favour your own clan when it comes to choosing the First Wife. Lady Bai Yun did the best during the tests and also had a relatively good fit when it comes to the bracelet so they targeted her first.”

“And they wanted to kill the others too, I suppose?” Ling asked.

“They wanted to kill Lady Hóng huā and Lady Mǐnruì. The other two, they felt, did not surpass their clans' own candidates and would never be chosen as First Wife by the High Council.”

Ling exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he lamented Lady Bai Yun's loss, he hated even more what her death would mean. Resentment from her family. A tarnished reputation for in-house security. Multiple conspiracy theories erupting across the empire. Nobody would treat Lady Bai Yun's death humanely and respectfully; even her own family might not miss her for her bright eyes and sweet voice. They would think of her and curse the day they lost the opportunity to get one of their own in the Emperor's bed.

Nobody here was human anymore. Everyone was just a piece in the game. Sometimes it was so difficult to accept how hard he and his companions fought for the survival of the human race back in Amestris and then come home to a country where very few even gave a damn about it.

He shook his head. Lan Fan urged him to take the goblet of wine offered by the servant.

“We'll get you fixed up, Lan Fan. Don't worry about your arm.”

“But what about the ceremony, your Eminence?” asked the Master of Domestic Safety. He was a portly man with pink cheeks and a soft demeanor the belied the intellect it took to manage the court's spies. “Will we choose among the remaining young ladies?”

Ling finally took a gulp of wine, and set out to the other side of his chamber, where the window was wide open. The sky has darkened to a shade where it would make for an uncomfortable late night walk in the woods, but not dark enough that the stars were easily visible to the naked eye. He inhaled the fresh air of the mountains but he could still smell the lingering aroma of the city below, the stench of the aggregated human dwellings.

Beneath the window, there was a heavy oaken desk where a servant laid Lan Fan's automail. There were very few automail mechanics here in Xing, and even then most of them were not as good as the regular residents of Rush Valley. The last time Lan Fan had an upgrade, it was during the Elrics' visit and Winry came with them. The best automail in Xing lived three provinces away.

He stared at the metallic sheen of the arm plate, the bearings around the outer elbow and the ruined edges of the cords inside. He couldn't help but think it a work of beauty even when it was destroyed. The jade beads on the wrist accentuated the spikes on the fingers and –

The jade beads. Of the bracelet.

Slowly, Ling fingered the smooth surface of the jade.

“Your Majesty?” the Master inquired. “What do you wish to do now?”

Ling stared at Lan Fan's automail. He turned around, mind churning with the seeds of an idea.

-o-

The next day, Ling was taking the long route from his chambers to the private office he used for paperwork and personal meetings with the various administrators. He wondered if stalling always felt so conspicuous, he swore those maids he passed knew exactly what he was up to.

The word couldn't have gone out that quickly, could it?

Nervously, he cut the corner to his right, squeezing himself into an alcove that hid a shortcut to the library. Lan Fan would never approve of him sneaking about like this, but she wasn't here right now. Neither was Jung-woo for that matter, which was probably something that Lan Fan would be even more disapproving about. After all, there were three assassins who made it into the hall just yesterday; it was a hideously bad idea to roam the palace in solitude.

But Ling felt rather impulsive. It appeared as if he was full of some unconventional ideas lately.

He found a studious Mr. Elric in the companion of old scrolls and dusty books, sitting by the wall with the window overlooking a garden.

“Alphonse?” he called. “Isn't it a little early to be up and about in the library?”

Al looked up, and gave him a smile. Pushing himself away from the table, he stood up and gave the customary bow. “Good morning, your Highness. I'm just taking advantage of the quiet.”

“You mean my librarians don't enforce the noise level limit? I am shocked! Someone needs to have a little talk with them.”

Al chuckled and waved his hands in front of him. “That wasn't what I meant. I only mean it gets rather busy here, and I don't want to deprive other people the materials they need. I'm only a visitor after all.”

“And an esteemed one at that,” Ling reminded him. He looked at the various texts littering the table, noticing the usual resources on Eastern alchemy and medicine, but also finding references on history and politics. “You seem to be very thorough in your research,” he noted. “In any case, don't stress yourself out too much.”

Alphonse nodded politely, then seemed to balk. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again immediately, and just grinned. Ling quirked an eyebrow, but he knew what his friend wanted to know.

“Get in line, Al,” he said. “To be honest, even I myself don't know what's going to happen.” Or what he was doing, really.

He bid the Amestrian good bye, and proceeded straight to his office. He hadn't even warmed the seat of his chair yet, when a disheveled looking Master of State Affairs came bursting in. The man gave Ling a crude bow, and given the glare he was sending the king's way, Ling could guess what he was here for.

“I don't mean to be rude, your Majesty,” the Master of State Affairs, more shortly known as Lord Huān, began. “But tell me it isn't true.”

“Tell me who you heard it from, and I'll tell you what is true and what isn't.” Ling leaned back against his seat, steeling himself for the rest of his conversation with this man. They had a very testy relationship; being a young monarch thrust into the position of ruler, Ling was considered by the Master of State Affairs as naive and eccentric, and trusted his ideas very little.

“The Master of Domestic Affairs informed me this morning that you plan on choosing Lan Fan, that _bodyguard_ , to be First Wife candidate!” he exclaimed with enough arm-waving that could rival a certain Major Armstrong that Ling once met.

“The plan is still in the works, Lord Huān,” Ling stated. “I still have things to–”

“Are you mad?!” he shouted.

Ling stilled, and looked at the Master fully in the eyes. “I will be if you keep interrupting me.” From the drawer of his desk, he retrieved a scroll which he had rushed to study the night before, shortly after Lan Fan's broken automail arm was delivered to his chamber. The scroll described in depth the rules of the candidate selection, listing out the various tests that the council could choose from, and which qualities those tests determined. Though the practice extended back into the pre-modern Yao province, the document was updated only two generations ago.

“Lan Fan hiked up that mountain, and the servants I sent up there to keep an eye on everyone told me she was the only one who didn't break a sweat. She spent a night in the cave, just like the other women did. She helped maintain the safety of a poor village using zero copper coins in total, which benefited not only the villagers but her companions as well. _And_ the jade bracelet fits her _perfectly._ ”

“But sire, she is _not_ of noble birth!”

Ling waved the scroll playfully. “I have studied the scroll, Lord Huān. The only time noble blood is mentioned is during the charity test, in which honour, sympathy and guile are emphasized. I don't doubt that Lan Fan also possesses those qualities.”

“But of course!” Huān exclaimed. “A document about _royal_ marriages would naturally assume that those who partake in the activity are noble! They don't have to say it explicitly.”

“This is politics, Lord Huān. You know as well as I do that _nothing_ can be assumed.”

“And technically, the bracelet fits on a metal cylinder, not that woman's wrist!”

“How would you define an arm then? The document never said anything about the arm being flesh and blood.”

“Well that's preposterous! What's stopping other women then from using prosthetic and molding it to the right size? Then _anyone_ can become wife to a Yao nobleman by your reasoning.”

“Relax,” Ling said. “Lan Fan's automail was crafted with her measurements in mind. If it makes you feel better, we checked the fit on her right wrist too.”

The Master of State Affairs spluttered, hands waving in disbelief. “But _sire_!!” he persisted, skin tainted red with what Ling assumed to be frustration, shock and anger. “She has a metal arm!”

Ling waited for him to continue whatever he wanted to implicate, but the man stared back at him as if expecting him to connect two obvious dots.

“... and what seems to be the problem with that?” Ling urged.

“Well,” Huān looked away, as if embarrassed to have to explain. “You know! That arm of hers is a weapon! That cannot possibly be safe in the act of copulation!”

Ling gave him a flat look. Lord Huān remained indignant and red-cheeked. “I believe you're now coming to the end of your fine rebuttals.”

“Rebuttals?” the Master of State Affairs eyed him like a petulant child. “How about this for fine rebuttals, your Highness? Have you ever thought about what the High Council would say? The decision of which woman would be given the title of First Wife rests mostly on its shoulders. They would _never_ allow a woman such as your bodyguard to be First Wife. We have a chance, a very unique and rare opportunity to put a Yao woman in the harem before anyone else. _You_ have a chance to father a Yao child and have it be your direct successor! Why are you squandering it?”

Ling tossed the document aside and stood up.

“What exactly is your problem, Master?” he asked. “The fact that Lan Fan is my bodyguard? Or that she has a metal arm? Or that she is not noble?” Ling snickered. “Or that you were hoping that your own niece, Lady Mǐnruì, would be my wife?”

That struck a chord, Ling could tell. The Master of State Affairs stiffened, and he lost his embarrassment.

“Since you asked, your Highness, then I wish to take this opportunity to be a little more frank with you. My problem is that I don't believe you hold the best interests of your people in mind. I have been at your father's side since before you were born, and I have seen his dedication to our customs and traditions, his tireless efforts to enrich the kingdom of Xing with our very own values.

“And yet, here you are, traipsing out of a country four years ago that saw massive political implosion, and you've been injecting their unusual ideas into our system. I have seen you show great disdain over things that used to be your father's pride! Sometimes I cannot help but feel you are ashamed of your roots, and look to the West as a superior culture. I see you as a man who is betraying your own kind by being ashamed with our way of life and seeking to eradicate it. I have seen a lot of dissatisfaction over my years, but this is racism on a completely higher level!”

Something about his last sentence rankled Ling, and the memory of spiky hair and wide grin flashed in his mind. He remembered the saccharine voice and the image of a decimated population caused by one gun shot.

“Don't talk to me about racism, Lord Huān,” he began quietly. “You talk about a wealthy and powerful Xing, but that's a very selective way of seeing this nation, don't you think? I see a Xing that is saturated in corruption – corruption that my own father exploited and perpetuated. It is not racist to acknowledge that our rich culture is juxtaposed and held back by outdated principles. I, for one, have never heard a slum boy say that he's proud to be Xingese because his emperor is a stud bull. I've never seen a starving woman say what a joy it is to live here, as her neighbours kill each other, her daughters sell themselves and local enforcers look the other way for a bribe.

“No. What is racist is to assume that this corruption is part of what it means to be Xingese. And perhaps _you_ are betraying your own kind by believing we are not better – and will never be better – than this!”

Ling moved to the side of the room with a balcony overlooking the city at the foot of the mountain. He pulled the sliding door open, revealing the untidy sprawl that threatened to creep up to the Yao palace. In the early light of dawn, the sight could almost be described as tolerable, and it was by no means the worst place in the country. But looking a little closer, signs of poverty were clear as one moved further down the valley.

And it stung to look at it and remember the voice that hinted at how pathetic humans could be. Because seeing the most shameful parts of his own kingdom, sometimes Ling was afraid that Envy was right.

-o-

Ling woke to a gentle hand brushing back the hair covering his face. Looking up, he found Lan Fan's face hovering over his, seeming a little concerned.

“What's wrong?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He tried to stretch out until he realized he was sitting on uneven concrete, and his back muscles were more sore than usual.

“You fainted here in the kitchen corridors,” Lan Fan answered. And as if to prove her point, two shy kitchen maids passed by, eyeing both of them warily.

Oh. He remembered wanting to get a bite to eat. He didn't remember eating however, so that probably meant he didn't get to. Unless he suddenly developed retrograde amnesia, in which case he had a lot more than fainting to worry about.

“Would you like to go up to your quarters and have a servant deliver your breakfast?” Lan Fan asked.

“Breakfast sounds good,” he replied, but then he felt the crustiness of his eyelids and the heaviness in his head. “After a bath.”

Lan Fan nodded and tailed him as they walked out of the kitchen wing and into the royal bath chambers. She was about to call for some servants to help him, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“It'll be quick,” he said, and she nodded silently as she followed him into the room. He chose the small, private pool, which was an area sanctioned from the larger one that many nobles enjoyed using together. The waters of the geyser was diverted into a little, man-made basin, then housed in a room with walls of bricks and wood. He helped her collect the things he needed – towels, soap, a comb, a bottle of scented oil and a pair of scrubbing stones. She helped him undress, and then he made his way into the bubbling warmth.

He sighed, allowing the warm waters to unwind his tense muscles. He laid his head against the edge of the pool where Lan Fan sat behind him, ready to undo the tangles in his hair.

“You will have to hold your hair,” she said. “Then I'll run the comb through.”

Ling bundled his hair with his hand, then slung it over one shoulder. Dipping the comb into the water first, Lan Fan began her patient work with his hair. From his vantage point below her, he could observe her automail arm quite easily. Someone had the good sense to wrap up the ruined stump, so at least the insides weren't exposed to the elements.

“I ordered the mechanic to rush here. It's not good to have your arm dangling about like that.”

“It's alright,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving the comb. “I can fight with one arm.”

“I know you can,” he said. “And you might have to. I think I pissed off a lot of people today, and it's only morning.”

A small smile appeared on her lips. “I saw the Master of State Affairs earlier. He looked like he was going to be sick.”

“He and I had a fight.”

“A fight?” she raised an eyebrow in amusement, but her voice remained low. “I'm surprised to see him still walking. Conscious too, for that matter.”

Ling chuckled, and he couldn't help but touch her hand and guide her in her efforts. “Not that kind of fight. A verbal one. He was being particularly difficult.” Slowly, he turned around to face her. “I'm afraid to say that a lot of people might be pissed off at you too.”

She looked at him for a moment in that irritating way where he couldn't tell what she was thinking. She was getting rather good at that. It used to be that he could read her so easily, but his ascension to the throne had built a rift between them that spanned more than just their ranks. Then she broke off her gaze, took the soap, and started rubbing his shoulder.

“Lan Fan,” he whispered. “Are you angry with me?”

“No!” she said, looking back at him with surprise. For a moment, she wavered. “I... I don't know.” She started scrubbing again.

“It's okay, I can do that by myself.” He gripped her hand tightly to stop her. “What did you think about it? My idea?”

She sighed. “Forgive me, but... I think it's ridiculous.”

Ling nodded. He didn't expect anything more optimistic from her. She hadn't said a word during the fitting yesterday, and she matched his mad ravings with her utter silence.

“Just so you know, no matter what anyone else says, you don't have to feel inferior,” he told her, as he took the soap from her hand and the alum from where it lay on the floor beside her. “Not with me.”

He quickly finished the rest of his bath by himself. He felt the weak pangs of hunger in his abdominal area, reminding him that if he did not get food into his system any time soon, Lan Fan might have to dress him herself and carry him upstairs. What an indignity that would be.

After rinsing himself completely, he pulled himself out of the pool and headed to where Lan Fan stood waiting with his towel. She handed it to him, but he didn't take it. He only stepped closer to her. She blushed, but didn't step back. And when he leaned in to catch her lips in a kiss, she didn't pull away. He was glad. Sometimes this was the only way he could even confirm her feelings, so shy she was of using words.

He made the kiss eager and long, that by the time he pulled away, the neckline of her scarf was drenched in the pool water that dripped from the tips of his hair. There were droplets on her cheeks and her nose, but her lips were not wet with water from the pool.

“Don't you believe that I love you?” he asked quietly. It seemed to him so heart-wrenching that she refused to grasp this opportunity with as much zealousness as he did.

“I do believe,” she admitted. “But I also believe that eventually you won't.”

That took him aback. “What makes you say that?”

“The passion of emperors have historically been...” she smiled wryly. “Rather turbulent.”

Unreliable. Indecisive. Quick and flitting. He was aware of it too. But that didn't make it easier for him to accept that perhaps he was no different from all the other emperors long gone.

  
“That's not fair, Lan Fan,” he said.

“One day you will get tired of me.”

“You don't know that,” he insisted. “In the same way you don't know that I might make a horrible king twenty years from now. And yet you helped put me on the throne. You put me here. Where is your faith now?”

“It's not the same to me.” She shook her head. “Please, let's just forget this. Forget the marriage. Because even if that was possible, I wouldn't want it.”

“You give me so little credit. Even now when you're like a wife to me in all ways but one, I can never consider throwing you away. Have I ever given you reason to think I would?” He paused. “Let's put it this way. What if you're the best one, Lan Fan? For this country? For what it needs to become?”

“You know that's not true.” She sighed, and wrapped the towel around his hips herself. “I think you should get some breakfast.”

-o-

_To set themselves apart, nobles of many clans had a penchant to mark themselves distinctively. In the early days of the empire, these marks were superficial – hair colour, jewelry, an article of clothing. Later, they became tattoos._

_When the Mage from the West visited Xing and spread the knowledge of alkahestry, these marks became deeply ingrained in the nobility. They no longer altered only skin and hair and clothing. With alkahestry, they could do so much more. The Jiang nobles turned their left eyes green. The lords of the Ng fiefdom gave themselves perpetually curly hair. The term “pure blood” came to be when the Emperor insisted to have his blood regularly detoxified, thereby enhancing his health and increasing his longevity._

_Many of these modifications were only temporary, but the custom became permanent. There are still to this day specialized alkahestrists appointed to attend to the nobles of each clan for the sole purpose of continuing the tradition. However, some of the modifications became inheritable. Nowadays, most of the Emperor's offspring have “purer” blood than the average Xingese._

_A. Elric_

-o-

Lan Fan was woken up one night by the king's mother, and hastily taken to a small room somewhere in the recesses of the palace. Lady Yao was known to some as an eccentric, like her son; but unlike him, she expressed her unconventionality in covert ways. To the majority of the court, she was a modest airhead, and if anything particularly fishy occurred whenever she showed up, well it was just a coincidence. Lady Yao had made herself a strategic master of inconspicuousness, and it worked well enough for everyone involved.

The room they entered had a low ceiling, a roughly cemented floor, and very few furniture to boast. The interesting things in it were the occupants: there squatting on the floor were the Emperor, his half-sister Mei, her panda, and Alphonse Elric.

She hesitated by the door. “Uhm...”

“It's alright,” Lady Yao urged her. “Come, sit down. We have a proposition for you.”

“Is something wrong?” Lan Fan asked as she took her customary spot beside the king. He smiled at her a little uncertainly, and worry began to blossom in her.

“We just want... to test out a hypothesis,” the Emperor replied. “But only if it's okay with you.”

Mei pushed an old, dusty book in her direction. Lan Fan could barely make out the writing, so old the lettering that was used.

“What is it?”

“The history of the Ahn tribe,” Mei said. She opened up the book somewhere in the middle where a page was covered in a smudged image resembling a mimosa pudica leaf. “This was a birthmark found on the arms of Ahn nobility. It is said that the very first alkahestrist to mark them was so powerful that the next generations inherited the birthmarks without further alchemical intervention.”

Lan Fan traced the outline of the leaf.

“These marks have vanished now,” Lady Yao continued. “Nobody has seen a trace of it after the Yaos absorbed the Ahns and dismantled their nobility. These records are the only things that document the marks at all.”

Lan Fan nodded, unsure where this was leading. She looked around at her companions, finding various expressions on their faces. Mei, smug; Alphonse, interested; Lady Yao, excited. Her lord... nervous.

“What's going on?” she asked.

The Emperor shifted and explained, “I want to revive the Ahn nobility. So to speak.”

She frowned, “I don't understand.”

“Well, everyone seems to think that the reason the High Council would never select you as the First Wife is because you're not from a noble family.”

It took a moment before what the king was requesting dawned fully on Lan Fan. And for several moments more after that, she was too full of shock to respond to him.

Lady Yao set a hand on her shoulder. “Look Lan Fan, your task would be really easy. Mei and Alphonse would place the mark on you, and I can take care of everything else – the stories, the rumours, the paperwork. All you have to do is show up in the Imperial Court during the Red String Festival, present yourself as the Yao Wife representative, and offer the birthmark as proof that you are noble.”

Lan Fan had heard her lord's mother speak various inane plots before, but even she had trouble wrapping her head around this one.

“That's... that's just mad!” she finally managed to utter. “The actual descendants of the Ahn nobility would be insulted. And – and we can't just resurrect a noble lineage! If we do that, thousands of others would follow suit. How many people have claimed to be noble in the history of Xing? So many clans and tribes have risen and fallen and... and this is just crazy.”

“Nobody knows who are the actual descendants of the last Ahn chief,” Lady Yao explained. “That's sort of the point. The Yao knew that if there was a chance the Ahn could redirect their loyalties again, their alliance would dissipate. This is why the record of this birthmark has been safely hidden away. Nobody knows why the mark disappeared in the first place, though if I were to guess, it was probably forcibly removed from the noble blood through alkahestry.”

“And if it makes you feel better,” Mei piped up nonchalantly. “We are not the first to think of this. You worry other people would follow suit? Lan Fan, _we_ are the people following suit.”

“What?”

“The Master of Espionage confirmed multiple other cases of it in the last couple of reigns,” the Emperor said.

“And people haven't revolted yet?” It surprised Lan Fan that some people had dared mess with the bloodlines and still survived.

“It's all politics, Lan Fan,” Lady Yao stated. “Remember, some people in this nation can get away with anything if they have enough power, enough money.”

The Emperor took her hand, still just the flesh one because the mechanic wasn't well-versed in automail and was still working on her metal arm. “Remember you have a choice.” She looked up at him then, to test the breadth of choices he claimed she had. She had rarely refused her lord anything, and he had never forced anything on her. And she saw the hope in his eyes, didn't understand one drop of it, but questioned whether she was willing to deny him the one thing he truly wanted of her.

-o-

Ling sat tensely at the center of the crescent-shaped formation of high-backed chairs designated for the council. He had sat through a mostly monotonous three hours as each candidate from the fifty clans presented themselves to the High Council and to him. Well, almost fifty. The forty-ninth woman just exited the grand doors. From the corner of his eyes, he could see some of the appointed councilors scribbling notes on their sheets. The last lady to leave was beautiful and clever, but so seemed the first forty-eight before her. Now Ling was short of chewing off his fingernails as he readied himself for Lan Fan's entrance. As the representative of his own clan, she was afforded the privilege of going last – allowing more time for preparation.

Some of the councilors gave him furtive glances whenever they thought he wouldn't notice. He noticed; he always did. It was difficult not to sense the curious gazes. He knew that they have all heard of the rumours. How in a serendipitous twist of fate, his loyal bodyguard became the best fit for the traditional and sacred Yao heirloom; and how they discovered only shortly after that she was a descendant of the obsolete Ahn aristocracy.

It didn't sound nearly as impressive as Ling thought it would. Lan Fan's clan made their name by being one of the mightiest warrior clans in the entire empire, but everyone knew that they were subjugated by the Yao clan. They didn't hold any real political power outside of helping the Yao ingratiate and preserve themselves. The truth was, nobody really cared about the Ahns unless one of them held a knife to their throat.

And Ling knew that the majority of the court knew this. They were all suspicious. Even his mother didn't try very hard at all in coming up with a more practical rumour to spread; the stories were all a little nebulous, a little _deus-ex_ - _machina_ , a term that Alphonse taught him which Ling found very fitting for this particular situation. How lucky for someone only a step higher than a typical nobody to be chosen as a prospective wife! How lucky that the bracelet fit! How lucky for the birthmark! Deep down, it wasn't exactly his intent to be realistic about Lan Fan's appointment as Yao candidate. All he hoped was that Lan Fan would impress the council.

Soon after, the door opened to reveal an usher helping the last lady of the night into the grand hall. Ling almost didn't recognize Lan Fan in the formal clothes she was forced into (by most likely none other than his own mother). Her dress was of deep purple, lined with silver embroidery depicting the mountains of Yao province; the floral decoration surrounding the image were in the shape of gears, most likely a nod to her unusual prosthetic. The automail was now finished, and there was a layer of matte coating on which an artist had painted purple patterns. Lan Fan's face was white with powder, her lips dark with paint. The jade bracelet sat comfortably on her wrist. Her hair, though up in its usual bun, held an assortment of ornamented hair pins that dangled over the back of her head. He wondered if their points were sharpened to accommodate the lack of knife sheaths she currently wore. When she walked up to them, he couldn't help but compare her gait to the forty-nine women before her; while theirs were small and graceful, Lan Fan's was heavy and hesitant.

He gave her a small smile, a token of encouragement so she didn't have to feel so nervous. Quite frankly, he didn't know how she could ever mess this one up. But maybe that had more to do with his faith in her than anything else.

The usher came up and handed the First Councilor a wad of papers, which described Lan Fan's background and personal achievements. Ling thought it should be a lot thicker than it currently was, but his mother didn't want to overdo it.

“Lady Lan Fan,” the First Councilor proclaimed. Already there was uncomfortable shifting among the rest of the councilors, but there were others who sat still, their curiosity getting the better of them. “Tell us about yourself.”

“I am the emperor's High Guard,” she answered first and foremost. Then she seemed to think for a moment, and backtracked. “I come from the Ahn lineage. My grandfather was Fu, protector of Lady Yao during her maiden days. My parents were palace warriors and perished with honour during the Liu siege. I was assigned to the king when he was – ”

Another councilor, a woman this time, interrupted Lan Fan. “Tell us about how you... managed to acquire your position here in this room.”

Lan Fan breathed in deeply and recounted the events of the Butterfly Festival, where a group of assassins attempted to kill three of the five candidates for Yao Wife. She explained how she tried to salvage the precious heirloom by diverting its descent using her automail arm. And that was how everyone discovered that she was a perfect fit for the bracelet.

Someone snickered in the room, but had the good sense to follow it up with a sneeze. Ling didn't care much what they thought right about now. He did, however, felt awful for putting Lan Fan through this, but he didn't know how else he could make a point.

“And tell us about your fortunate enlightenment regarding your ancestry,” prompted another.

Ling could see Lan Fan visibly balk at the task. He saw the way her hand moved to her waist, clasping the empty air; he knew that she longed for the feel of her knives, the safety and the protection they offered, regardless of whether she wielded them or not.

“There was wonder,” she began softly. “After the bracelet fit so perfectly. Many people couldn't believe it. They thought it was because my automail wrist was adjusted. But when the bracelet fit on my right hand too, they all wondered why.” She explained in exactly the way Ling knew she would, dictating the words as she memorized them.

“When a mechanic and a doctor began to work on fixing my automail, they noticed the birthmark on my right arm while they were taking measurements,” Lan Fan continued softly. “They thought it was an odd shape, a leaf, to be exact, and... and when they were talking about it, Lady Yao happened to pass by.” She shrunk back a little, her shoulder losing their squareness as the councilors showed signs of impatience and doubt.

Ling watched as she took a deep breath and tried to continue. She rolled up her right sleeve to reveal the mark that Alphonse and Mei etched on her skin using alchemy. The First Councilor looked through the documents that the usher handed to him, flipping to the page that explained the significance of the mimosa pudica.

An imperial alkahestrist came forward to inspect the mark. After a few minutes of prodding, she came forward and nodded her head. It was all the approval that they were going to get.

“Then what happened?” the Fifth Councilor prompted.

“Then... then...” Lan Fan paused. Took one look at the birthmark. Then gazed up at Ling, seated at the center of the platform. Her look said everything. She was afraid, despairing, and deeply apologetic.

But beyond that, she was determined.

“It's fake,” she said. Not softly like her tone before. Though not loud, her articulation was clear. “The mark is fake. I am sorry.” Her eyes never left his, and Ling had a distinct feeling that this part at least was directed mostly to him.

She was ruining their plan.

“I... I forged the mark with the help of an alkestrist,” she explained, and Ling could tell that it wasn't exactly a lie. It seemed to him as if she was done with those. He stiffened, wondering if she would reveal his part in it, as well as his mother's and sister's. “I learned about the birthmark of my ancestors some time ago. After the bracelet fit on me, I thought... well... that maybe I had a chance. And I was wrong.”

She lowered her head, and Ling fidgeted in discomfort at the amount of shame radiating off of her. He never meant for her to become _this_ uneasy. His heart thudded in his chest. When she looked back up, her gaze was directed straight at him.

“I should never have allowed my own selfishness to motivate this deception.” She shook her head. “I am a guard first and foremost, anything else second. I gave an oath to protect Your Highness and your name and your honour, but by resorting to this deceit I already threaten to destroy everything that you've only started to build.”

She gave him a weak shrug. “For justice, don't we have to throw away a lot of things? I don't want a Xing standing on my lies. I am very sorry.”

Lan Fan gave a brisk, low bow, and ran out from the room.

Ling sat back and relaxed. Inwardly, he smiled. A broad, toothy grin. In some ways he felt guilty for feeling so proud when Lan Fan felt only shame, but he had predicted this turn of events – _counted_ on it in fact, hoped for it to happen. Trust Lan Fan to be the mouthpiece of honour and truth when everyone else wouldn't recognize them even if they hit them on head.

One of the councilors began to laugh. When he finished, he turned to Ling. “ _That_ was the representative of the Yao clan? Please tell me you'd fire her from her position.”

Ling took a deep breath. Lan Fan had done her part. Now it was time for him to do his. And in some ways, the lynchpin of his plan rested more on how he followed up Lan Fan's perfect execution of her part. She didn't know that that was exactly how he wanted her to act, but she would never have agreed to playing a dual duplicity in the first place. And her rawness, her reflex to revert back to honesty was what he needed to prove his point anyway.

“Fire?” he asked. “Fire the only woman in the last three hours to have said the truth?” That caught their attention. He stood up and walked a few paces towards the center of the semi-circle so that he could look at the councilors better.

“Let me tell you something about Lan Fan,” he began. “I _asked_ her to be the representative of the Yao clan. I employed the alkahestrist who marked her. And despite her duty to me, she still resorted to honesty, managed even to do so without implicating _my_ involvement. She knows full well what I can do to her, what she risks by walking out of this room.”

Ling looked at the Eighth Councilor. “Lord Xiao Bai of the Jiao prefecture,” he called. The middle-aged man gave him a slight bow. “You are well acquainted with the ladies of Jiao nobility. Did you notice anything unusual with Lady Zhēn today?”

Lord Xiao Bai shrugged coyly. “I thought she was unusually beautiful, your Highness.”

“I did too!” Ling admitted happily. “Most likely due to her brand new hazel eyes. The word is that she blackmailed a girl in the squatter district, one with foreign blood, into 'donating' those eyes to her. Replicating the exact hue using alkahestry took very precise... er, study. Now a twelve-year-old is meandering in the slums with no sight, and her father was sent to the labour camps anyway. But who cares?”

Ling turned to the Third Councilor. “And how about Lady Yǎnlèi? You called her timid and shy. But a mansion in the northeast territory of her province lies unoccupied, except for the slain corpses of her favoured suitor and his relatives. An entire family was killed to pressure her into forgetting her beloved and entering the candidacy.”

In turn, he went around the circle, targeting each councilor that he knew had some knowledge about the kind of savage tricks many of the girls or their families played to get them nominated. Some of the councilors gave him sulking looks, others were poker-faced or smug.

“And none of them had the audacity to reveal any of this. None of _you_ do either. How do you now expect me to trust your judgment in choosing a woman to bear the next generation of leaders for Xing?”

He let the silence stretch for a long while, up to the point where he could feel the uneasiness threaten to break the cool facades of these upright men and women. Some sadistic part of him wanted them all to feel the same amount, if not more, of the shame that Lan Fan had felt sabotaging herself in front of them. Then he turned around and fled the room, feeling Jung-woo's chi follow him as he exited the hall through the side doors that would safely carry him to the private wing.

He couldn't exactly predict what would happen from now. Every councilor in that room would tread precariously, knowing what they knew about their fellow peers in their circle. Each councilor in that room represented an alliance of clans. Everyone had a history of conflict with someone else. None of the secret perversions Ling had divulged would be safe in their hands. Eventually, something would leak, someone would crack, and they would all turn against each other.

He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he knew for certain that the High Council was a bomb waiting to explode, and that the ticking was only masked by fake smiles, bribes and even more extortion.

He found Lan Fan in her rooms, already changed out of her dress and makeup. She looked up at him, her reddened eyes the only evidence that she'd been crying.

“Do I have to pack?” she asked, and it was clear from her voice that she was expecting either banishment or execution.

He felt so sorry for her. He sat beside her on the bed and held her hand. Her left hand.

“Sometimes I think I can't be more proud of you than I already am, but you always have a way of proving me wrong,” he said. “Don't pack. I have more need of you now.”

“Did I cause a civil war?” she asked tentatively, and Ling laughed out loud.

“Hardly,” he answered. He pulled her into his arms, her head lying on his shoulder.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“Don't be. I should be the one to apologize. I wanted you to do what you did,” he explained. “I didn't know of any other way to drive the point into their heads.”

She was silent for a while. Then, “Your Highness?”

“What is it?”

“I do love you.”

“I know.”

And at least for that moment, Ling felt satiated.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is a one-shot. I really don't think that it's going to be easy for Ling to just decide that he will marry Lan Fan. That's why all my one-shots tend to end quite abruptly, because I really don't know how to go about solving it, and my knowledge of politics isn't that extensive either.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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